Would someone please Love me and call my Pretty?
You don’t have to mean it or tell your friends.
You can just whisper it in my ear.
Sweet nothings.
Sweet somethings.
Dirty, drunk promises from a pole with beer goggles.
It’s just that I’m desperate for someone to see me –
hooker, whore, back on the floor –
Call me what you will.
I don’t really care.
I just want someone to say I’m Pretty
and Skinny
Nice
And good.
And hopefully, someday,
I’ll catch me a man and he’ll call me
Wife.
She sits in front of me in my Intro to Teaching class. Her shorts are too tight for her hips and too short for her thighs, but she wants to be pretty like the girls in the magazines. She wants the boys to notice her and they do. But they only see a dishrag, nothing more than a scrap of overweight and overeager terrycloth, a perfect piece of soft goods to masturbate on and throw away.
She doesn’t get it, but I do. I’ve lived in a fraternity house many years ago. I remember the required Sunday meetings: where we voted on the weekly SAWSUB Award (Sexual Activity with a Skanky Ugly Bitch) complete with detailed stories and lots of laughs.
I had a friend who came up to visit me at the fraternity house one weekend. During the party he nailed the Tree Trunk on the pool table in the community rec room. The brothers were delighted and disgusted to know that someone knocked the knot hole on our precious pool table. SAWSUB was generally reserved for brothers, but exigent circumstances took precedence.
The nickname was given to her because her thighs were as big as tree trunks. I may not remember her name, but I do remember that awful nickname, which was only used behind her back. I also remember her making the rounds one night, smoking pole after pole, praying each time that she would find someone to love her. It didn't work; it just got her another award.
I don’t know the girl’s name, the one who sits in front of me in my Intro To Teaching class. She comes in every day with low slung, tight shorts and a shirt that exposes her ample nipples and muffin-top midriff. I wonder whose tree trunk she is and if she knows, has any clue, as to what she is doing? What lessons will she teache her students? If only I could go back and hug Tree Trunk, call her by her given name and tell her that she is pretty and good and kind and sweet. But then she’d want to marry me and I wouldn’t want that. I have no use for dishrags. I prefer women strong of heart and mind.
You don’t have to mean it or tell your friends.
You can just whisper it in my ear.
Sweet nothings.
Sweet somethings.
Dirty, drunk promises from a pole with beer goggles.
It’s just that I’m desperate for someone to see me –
hooker, whore, back on the floor –
Call me what you will.
I don’t really care.
I just want someone to say I’m Pretty
and Skinny
Nice
And good.
And hopefully, someday,
I’ll catch me a man and he’ll call me
Wife.
She sits in front of me in my Intro to Teaching class. Her shorts are too tight for her hips and too short for her thighs, but she wants to be pretty like the girls in the magazines. She wants the boys to notice her and they do. But they only see a dishrag, nothing more than a scrap of overweight and overeager terrycloth, a perfect piece of soft goods to masturbate on and throw away.
She doesn’t get it, but I do. I’ve lived in a fraternity house many years ago. I remember the required Sunday meetings: where we voted on the weekly SAWSUB Award (Sexual Activity with a Skanky Ugly Bitch) complete with detailed stories and lots of laughs.
I had a friend who came up to visit me at the fraternity house one weekend. During the party he nailed the Tree Trunk on the pool table in the community rec room. The brothers were delighted and disgusted to know that someone knocked the knot hole on our precious pool table. SAWSUB was generally reserved for brothers, but exigent circumstances took precedence.
The nickname was given to her because her thighs were as big as tree trunks. I may not remember her name, but I do remember that awful nickname, which was only used behind her back. I also remember her making the rounds one night, smoking pole after pole, praying each time that she would find someone to love her. It didn't work; it just got her another award.
I don’t know the girl’s name, the one who sits in front of me in my Intro To Teaching class. She comes in every day with low slung, tight shorts and a shirt that exposes her ample nipples and muffin-top midriff. I wonder whose tree trunk she is and if she knows, has any clue, as to what she is doing? What lessons will she teache her students? If only I could go back and hug Tree Trunk, call her by her given name and tell her that she is pretty and good and kind and sweet. But then she’d want to marry me and I wouldn’t want that. I have no use for dishrags. I prefer women strong of heart and mind.
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3 comments:
This is fantastic Jack. What horrifies me most about what you've just written and what Granny is also getting at is the fact that whether in 1957 or 2006 there are still women out there who think they have to sleep around to gain acceptance. And of course then there's the guys who take advantage. Neither is pretty, neither is acceptable and yet it is one of those constants in life.
What a sad story. I have talked to these types of girls before. Most of them can not accept or love themselves never less find it somewhere else. I just reinforces that I need to continually be telling my daughter who she really is and how special she really is. Her acceptance and love of herself should not be based on sex.
Even though my college experience wasnt like yours my Army experience was just that! I know self esteem and family values play a big part but it just amazed me just how far guys would go even to the point of bragging about it, but I have to agree with comedian Chris Rock when he says that as a Father your main goal in life is to keep your daughter of the pole(the stripper pole)! Just show your kids plenty of love and affection and dont let them join the Army or Marines! Lenny
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